


i’m caught on your coat again

by yewwnears



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Meh, Unrequited Love, i stalled a lot and it ended up sucking, this is long overdue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yewwnears/pseuds/yewwnears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t know how to unlearn what his eyes have engraved in his mind since he was pudgy and boy and young enough to not understand anything fluttering and crashing inside of him.</p><p>He’s almost twenty now, and, somehow, he’s still trying to figure it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i’m caught on your coat again

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiii, hope you like it. This is also not beta'd so apologies for mistakes.

 

 

**Harry is 10, Louis is 12.**

 

Flecks of snow stick to the tousled hair of the green eyed boy as he sticks his pudgy hand out to catch a flake in his hand, a frown coming to etch his forehead into creases when none falls into his hand.  

He sighs, resigned. Stumbling a bit on his dainty feet, Harry stretches his hands out, maintaining balance and spins around once, wind rushing through him in one strong whip. A laugh tumbles out of his cold lips, exhilaration rushing through him.

He spins again and again, and again, inept movements in the middle of clumps of snow, something only he seems to be doing in the masses of people scattered about the white sheets coating the ground. He smiles to himself, bites his lower lip, relishing in how it’s almost clandestine.

Holmes Chapel is a small village, people come and go or they don’t ever leave but it astounds Harry that even though he knows almost everyone who lives here, he has many moments of solitary serenity. It’s uncanny, he’s only ten and like any ten year old he should be bouts of energy and outdoor games and roiling excitement about everything but Harry’s always been calm waves and slow words and small smiles.  

His mom always says he sees the world in a different way, sort of in slow motion until something makes it come crashing down or too fast for him to keep up. He’s articulated it in his own way, content on observing all of its different aspects rather than rushing head on into any of it. He likes it that way. It makes everything almost, in a weird way, surreal and surprising.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he halts to an impromptu stop, stumbling and tripping over his feet. In the next few seconds, Harry finds his butt in contact with the snow and he groans because it _hurts._

“You can’t be surprised,” a voice calls from above him, half amused. “not when you’re spinning around like a baboon. You were bound to fall, silly!”

“It hurts.” Harry whimpers, squinting up at the speaker, and his eyes flicker and settle on the face of a boy not much older than him but definitely older. Harry’s cheeks flush red, blotches of crimson because great, he’s embarrassed himself in front of a person, maybe even a potential friend had he not been a complete idiot. “Also, m’not a baboon.”

The boy chuckles and the corners of his blue eyes crinkling as he offers Harry a hand to hoist him up. Harry graciously accepts and hauls himself up, dusting off snow clinging to his clothes. “Hi.”

“Hi,” blue eyes says, grinning. “I’m Louis.”

“Harry.” He offers his hand and Louis grasps it in his own, a quick handshake.

“I just moved here,” Louis’ skin is caramel and his eyes are oceans and his hair is deliciously scented cinnamon rolls, and his mouth seems to be curved in a way that always carries a mischievous smirk.

Harry is intrigued. “I’ve always lived here. Holmes Chapel is pleased to have you.”

“Glad to be here, Curly.” Louis smiles down at him, a few inches taller and voice loud and obnoxious like it’s reminding him not to forget that. “Since I have no friends here, would you like to be my friend?”

“Duh, I thought that was obvious.” He tries to play it cool but his eyes are round orbs and the eager nod is anything but suave. Right, at least the friend status has been established.

Somewhere behind them someone shouts out Louis’ name and the boy throws a quick glance and a thumbs up behind his back before turning to Harry and smiling. “I have to go home now. I’ll see you later, Curly.”

“See you, Louis.” Harry tries to hide his disappointment, voice low as Louis bounds towards where a woman and two small girls are standing in wait for him. He waves back when a hand bids farewell in his direction.

 

**Harry is 15, Louis is 17-18.**

The night is quiet, the lone chirp of a cricket or the hoot of an owl breaking the silence occasionally, and there are stars in sky, a lot of them, and Harry is wide awake.

On any other restless night, he’d count sheep or backwards from hundred in his head, breathe slowly, keep his eyes firmly shut and let the calm lull him into slumber. Tonight, though, is a whole different story. Everything is a chaotic mess of thoughts and erratic heartbeat and heavy breathing and things he’s too afraid to mention by name even in his own head, it’s a whirlwind of uncertainty. 

Harry drags himself out of bed, putting on his slippers to go fetch himself a glass of water when there’s the sound of a thud against his window. His heart beats impossibly faster.

Someone is calling his name.

Harry shifts towards the noise and peers out towards the moonlight. He looks down and there, with one foot resting on the lowest branch of the tree right beside his house, is Louis, and then, _that,_ makes his heart kick into overdrive.

He lifts his thumb and wiggles it once -unaware of whether he is visible to Louis peering up at the darkness- lowers it and moves back, slipping on an oversized sweater and tries to creep down the stairs as silently as possible. He unbolts the various locks of the kitchen door and scurries out into the cold, hands burrowed into the warmth of his pajama pockets. He walks to the side of the backyard that’s covered in snow and comes face to face with Louis.

“Happy almost birthday,” is what tumbles breathlessly out of his mouth, instinct, like the words had been rolling along his tongue for a long while and had been built up to the point where they couldn’t be held back.

Louis’ face breaks out into a smile, “nice. Want to go on an adventure?”

“Sure.” Harry almost laughs at the absurdity of it. As if Louis doesn’t know that he’d want to walk naked on the thin ice of a lake and Harry would be the first one to give in and do it with him. Except, Louis doesn’t do vulnerability, least of all stripping bare, of any sorts. Hardcore, he likes to call it.

“I walked here,” Louis says after a pause and Harry shoots him an indignant look because Louis’ house isn’t exactly right around the corner and it’s _cold_ outside. “Needed to think.”

“Oh,” Harry answers quietly, the fumbling of his fingers before they knot together. “Yeah, okay. So, this adventure. Does it require walking or a bike that’s standing in wait in the garage?”

“Oh um, bike?” Harry nods, adrenaline already coursing through his veins, night adventures with Louis are _always_ fun and it thrills him to know that Louis would rather have him as his partner in crime rather than Zayn or someone from the football team.

“C’mon,” Harry smiles soft, careful. “Your carriage awaits you m’lady.”

The movement is sudden and out of the blue, catches him by surprise so that when Harry feels fingers slipping in between the gaps of his own, the burn of skin even though Louis’ fingers are freezing, he can’t help but be taken aback. Only Louis’ face has lost its former shadow and is now a fond smile and the roll of his eyes. “Such a gentleman, lead the way.”

Harry frowns, alert about the way their fingers are pressed together. “Wait, I pulled a muscle in my leg so I’m not allowed to ride the bike today.”

Louis tilts his head to the side, as if he’s musing over it. “That’s right which means you’re sitting in the crappy lump of metal that you like to refer to as the back seat.”

“Heyyyy,” Harry drags out, pouts but doesn’t argue and follows Louis who’s leading the way now and well, that’s that.

OoO

“Your big idea of a spontaneous adventure is lying in your attic and staring out the glass ceiling at the stars?” Harry shifts so that the shadows casting silver light on Louis’ face and making him visible are more prominent. He looks peaceful like this, untouchable and somehow, in some way, invincible.

Sometimes when everything is uncertain and irrelevant and _Louis_ and he’s shaken to the core because it feels as if someone has tilted his whole world upside down on its axis, Harry buries his face in between his knees and focuses on _just_ breathing. And he feels an awful lot like doing that right now but he can’t, it’s suffocating, the emptiness of the space between them and even the smallest exhalation seems like it’ll break things. Valuable fragile things, like maybe hearts.

There’s a tap on his nose, causing him to blink. “You’re doing that again.”

Harry looks him right in the eye, doesn’t blink this time, as he drawls out his words, expression honest and open. “What?”

Louis sighs, shuffles about until he’s comfortable with his cheek resting in the palm of his hand, body angled towards him. “Deep thinking. Brows furrowed, frown and all that. It’s- doesn’t fit the context.”

“Oh but it does,” Harry grins sideways, face still facing the ceiling. “Since we’re not talking, I’m letting my thoughts wander. You should try it, takes the mind off things. Helps to relax, you know.”

Beside him, Louis snorts, and Harry can feel it vibrate down the entire length of his body, “as if that’s going to be the case.”

 And while Louis might not realize it, it’s a simple admission of sorts.

And Harry so _badly_ wants to reach out to him and ask _what’s going on? what’s in your head, lou? tell me because i’m right here_ , because they’re _best friends,_ and he thinks of the time when they had been huddled here before, a few months ago, and Louis had tucked his forehead into the join of Harry’s shoulder and neck, voice small while confessing, an echo of _i like boys_ that resounds in his head a few times every day and a lump lodges in his throat that’s holding back the _me too me too me too_.

“So. Are we going to talk about what has been bothering you?” he asks quietly, unsure of whether he’s pushed it too far but then there’s all these careless touches and huge smiles and relentless stares and it proves that they’ve never had boundaries or lines that needed to not be crossed.

“What?” Louis turns his head sharply, his posture noticeably tense, “nothing. It’s- I’m _fine._ ”

“Lou, c’mon,” he says softly.

Louis turns to him, his gaze flickers all over Harry’s face before he sits up and rests his back against the cardboard box behind him. Harry doesn’t move. “It’s- I’m going to university soon and that’s? I don’t know. S’new.”

Harry swallows, reluctant to tread anything but cautiously on this topic. “Got me, don’t you?”

Louis smiles, “suppose I do, yeah.”

Harry swallows again thickly, feeling something rising in his chest and he fears it might not be willing to be held back this time as it has been, time and time again, and again and again.  

“Do you think-” he pauses, buries it back down.

“What?” Harry just shakes his head. “Haz no, _what_?”

Harry hesitates, focuses his eyes on the nail of his thumb, feeling something weighing him down. “Nothing. Just- you’ll be fine. You’ve never needed anyone to ground you someplace, you know? You like being your own person, in the sense that you’re going to go places. I know you will.”

“Harry,” Louis is looking at him funny and Harry feels his stomach give an odd lurch, his fingers picking at the invisible thread at the seam of his pajamas. “My parents, they’re not,” he seems to be looking for the right word, sighs when he can’t settle on one, finishes in defeat, “not how they used to be.”

Harry sits up at this, fingernails digging into the palm of his hands. “Lou, are they fighting again?”

“Yeah.”

He lets the silence stretch out between them, lets it conquer and push and engulf, he lets it settle. Somehow, it’s all the more deafening.

“I’m sorry, Louis.” He says finally, eyes fixed on Louis’ face that is carefully arranged in a way that is void of emotion.

 Louis just nods and he looks _small_ , and Harry hates that, hates anyone who makes his best friend feel like he needs to shrink in on himself, like he’s some inconsequential thing hanging over everything else that is so much bigger. He’s _not._

“Do you think that,” his voice wavers, his hands have the slightest tremor when he moves them to lock them together, “it’s selfish? Leaving the girls when things are so. I don’t know, shitty I guess?”

Harry shakes his head, movement sharp and frenzied. However, he toys with what he wants to say in his mind, takes a while because this is so, so important and he needs to get it right through to Louis’ head. “I think that, as long as what you really want contributes as major factor to your decision all the while taking into consideration everything else that is important to you, it's all up to you really.

Louis stares at him, "that literally makes half sense. But the girls are important to me."

Harry shrugs. "I'm sure you're important to them as well and that they only want what is best for you, yeah?"3>

“I want to go, Haz. I just want-“Louis’ voice breaks and he doesn’t bother to finish his sentiment.

Harry feels himself move on instinct, default, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. He squeezes the expanse of his shoulders as Louis buries his face in the join between his shoulder and neck.

“You should. I’ll take care of them.”

Louis chuckles. “You’re pretty something.”

“We’re pretty something.” It tumbles out before he can think it through and, _shit. Abort abort abort. Not_ part of the monologue he was preparing in his head. _Motherfucking abort._

“H,” Louis raises his head, squirms noticeably but doesn’t pull away.

And oh what the fuck, the damage is done, no backing out now. Harry is stupid, he is dumb and he’s young and oh. Louis is staring at him, the little furrow between his brows like he can’t imagine what’s going on, like he’s trying to sort out the muddle that’s probably taking up space in his thoughts.

“You’re leaving,” Harry whispers finally.

“Not right now. I’m still here.” Their faces are inches apart.

“We could be pretty something.”

“We are.” From so close, Harry can just about make out how blue Louis’ eyes are, oceans of cerulean with currents pulling him in, rubbing salt water over his wounds, and it _burns._ It’s like a wildfire spreading from the tips of his fingers to the end of his toes, slow like liquid molten but scorching in its movement.

Harry’s eyes flicker to his wrist, move back to Louis’ face.

“Happy birthday.”  His tongue swipes out to lick his lips heedlessly.

He’s unsure of who moves first but he likes to think they both meet halfway, crash into each other in a way that makes it seem like it’s always been inevitable. Like all this time there has been an invisible string pulling them closer and closer together, until it snaps and everything moves.

Louis’ lips are soft, chapped, but that’s _fine._ That’s fine because they’re _kissing._ In the little space that Harry knows _matters_ to Louis, where he hides himself when everything crashes and fills up in him.  A place he trusts Harry to know about, to even kiss him. He feels like he could soar.

It’s a wonderful feeling, having Louis up against him, snogging him in a careful yet messy manner, like it holds the utmost importance, his hands tangling in Harry’s curls, making him preen. It’s wonderful until Louis pulls away, short of breath and wipes at his lips with the back of his hand. Harry tracks the rise and fall of his chest almost unconsciously.

Everything feels tentative, hushed and hesitant so Harry finds it appropriate to bite down on the smile threatening to contort his face into one of overwhelmed giddiness. It’s seems all encompassing, the promise of something _real,_ like wisps of suppressed thoughts springing alive now that they’ve been provoked.

He’s so caught up in the blur of his whirring thoughts that he misses the look on Louis’ face.

“Harry,” he hears it, drifting and quiet, like a jagged piece pushing through unexpectedly, “this isn’t- we’re not. We’re _not._ ”

“What. We’re not _what_?” in contrast to Louis’ honey silk tone; Harry’s rasp is loud and seems to echo.

“Doing this,” Louis mumbles, “not now.”

“Why not?” again, it rings obnoxiously, high pitched because _what_ is Louis saying. _we’re not what we’re not what we’re not what._

“Maybe someday,” Louis’ good at avoiding a direct question, knows how to jab and poke and turn things around in his favour, in a way that is comfortable with him, sits easily in his skin and doesn’t itch like it’s going to leave scratches that will take time to fade, it’s always his last frenzied attempt at ditching things he doesn’t want to come face to face with, not yet. “Maybe when you’re a top notch photographer with your own studio and people are just _dying--_ “

“Lou--,” he tries to interrupt, but Louis isn’t having it, not today.

“--And, and I’m a lawyer working at one of London’s _most_ prestigious firms and there’s a pretty flat overlooking the city and not _now_. Not now, Haz. I’m going to University, you’re _here._ ” He’s panicky, tries to hide his fear behind his quick movements as he paces around, hands flailing everywhere. (Harry hadn’t even _noticed_ being on the floor alone)

“I don’t understand,” Harry says quietly, looks down at his hands, studies the lifelines etched on the skin, wonders whether they’re fate lines that align perfectly with the lines on Louis’ own palms.

He hopes so.

“Haz, _please_.” And Harry stands up, in the suffocating silence that’s full to the brim with the pleading look of Louis’ eyes, and there’s a chill that is taking up the space between his lungs so that when he inhales, his lungs don’t expand to make space for it.

He’s _fine._

His eyes must be accusing, must be conveying the _what are you doing, why did you do this, i’m not her, this isn’t how it’s played out in my head, i’m not her, i’m not any of the hers, you should know that._

Harry’s eyes catch how Louis’ hand twitches from where it’s hanging by his side, discerns its shaking that follows so that he sees right through Louis’ clenched jaw and hard eyes, doesn’t let the ice in his voice pierce through him, “you should go home. It’s late.”

And Harry thinks _you should sleep, you have bags under your eyes, you seem tired_ but doesn’t say it, lets it dissolve in the space between them, plants his feet firmly on the ground and leaves.

OoO

 

**Harry is 19, Louis is 21**

“I’m home,” Harry calls out, dropping the various grocery bags onto the kitchen-top counter, shuffling about and adjusting the scarf tying his hair back, “got your favourite-“

He drifts towards the living room to see Louis curled up on the couch, blanket pulled up to his face, eyes fixed on the screen of the television. Harry sighs, slips out of his worn out boots and nudges Louis gently so he can adjust them both in a comfortable manner.

“So,” Harry says, snuggled close to Louis, “so, whose ass do I have to kick now?”

Louis lets out a wet laugh, blending in with the buzz of the sounds coming off the screen, “you can’t kick ass, Haz. You’re like a harmless kitten.”

“ _Lou_ , that’s beside the point.” He huffs out, narrowing his eyes.

“Well-“

“Wait, is it Aiden? Did he-“Harry sits up, pressing his lips together in a narrow line at the look on Louis’ face. “Knew it. Prick.”

“No.” Louis’ quick to respond, tugging the curly haired boy’s hand into his own, “no I broke up with him. It wasn’t- realized I didn’t want it.”

Harry frowns, “I thought you liked him?”

“Yeah, I did so too.” Louis mutters.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I’m tired. You were saying something about something favourite. Is it Indian? I feel like Indian. Please say yes.”

Louis looks soft and sleepy, bunched up in an old sweater of Harry’s that has holes near the wrists, perfect places for him to creep his fingers out from, it looks good on him. Then again, pretty much everything does.

Harry smiles, letting their conversation dissolve into one of familiarity,

“Put on the last season of Breaking Bad and it’ll be a definite yes.”

OoO

Harry’s last lecture of the day ends spot on time, exactly five pm. He knows because his eyes are fixed on the watch clasped on his wrist, the bigger of the needles ticking closer to the sloppy 12 with every passing second.  

As soon as the professor dismisses the lecture, Harry is out of his seat at the very end of the room, bag slung on his shoulder as he exits through the back, a sigh of relief emitting from his mouth. He walks towards the courtyard; phone already out in his head. He turns it on and sees that he has fourteen text messages, ten from Louis, two from his mum and one each from Niall and Zayn.

He opens Niall’s first, scans his eyes over it, chuckles lightly.

_pints tonight m8 !!_

Zayn’s is somewhat similar and he wastes no time in looking through the stream of texts sent by Louis that are ranging from _im bored H_ to _pints with the boys!!_ And one not so shocking _watched (500) days of summer again, fuck breakups haha._

 _Coming home,_ Harry texts back, pocketing his phone and starts to walk towards the bus stop, smile etched on his face still. It’s not peculiar for Louis to send him various texts on a day when he’s got no classes, all obscenities and sad emojis mingling with cute cat ones that Harry absolutely adores.

Harry gets on the bus and pushes earphones into his ears as it rattles along, tapping his feet in tune to the beat blasting from the tiny pieces, indulging himself in a short game of Doodle Jump.  It’s started to rain, soft and out of tune with everything as he gets off at his spot, a couple blocks away from their apartment building that he dashes towards through small puddles that have started to form, feet a flurry of quick movements.

“Lou,” he pants, hair wet that he shakes a hand through once he’s in the warmth of their combined flat, a sigh of relief eliciting from his lips, Louis’ face appearing in front of him.  

Louis takes one good look at him, and starts cackling.

“Started out as a little drizzle,” he grumbles, throwing his soaked beanie at Louis’ face, “now it’s bloody bonkers outside.” 

Louis doesn’t answer although there’s still an amused lilt to his mouth and disappears into his room and returns moments later with a towel, draping it around Harry’s shivering figure despite his small smiles. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, love. How were classes?”

Harry drags out a groan, “same old, same old. Last lecture is always booooring. Thank God it’s Friday”

“Yeah,” Louis answers absently, fingers fumbling together as his brows furrow into a frown, “you should dry off and then in a while, we’re meeting the boys at the pub. I think Niall must’ve sent a text or ‘summat.”

Harry starts to nod before his brain clicks and he remembers he already made commitments with the cute guy in his photojournalism class- Alex, yeah that’s what he said his name was.

His insides deflate a bit. “Sorry I can’t. I have a date.”

“A date?” Louis’ eyebrows shoot up so far they’re near his hairline, forming a perfect arc.

Harry feels indignant, crosses his arms over his chest in a defensive manner. “Yeah, why? Can’t I go out once in a while?”

“Haz, I’m not- Jesus, of course you can.” Louis says in a soft voice, “just looking out for you, yeah?”

“Right,” he replies, lets his arms drop to his sides and shoulders to droop. Louis’ looking at him, and there’s something rueful playing along the corners of his mouth and Harry feels, inexplicably, tired. He rubs his hands over his eyes and feels himself be engulfed into a side hug.

“C’mon,” Louis guides him gently towards his bedroom and Harry leans into the touch, exhaustion creeping into his bones and taking over every other feeling. “Put on something warm and take a little nap. What time’s the date?”

“Um seven,” he mumbles.

“Sleep for an hour, I’ll wake you up.”

“Thanks, Lou.” He feels Louis press a kiss to his forehead, hot and fleeting, just as he shuts the door behind him and Harry is left to his own company. He starts to strip off his clothes languidly, rubs the towel on his already drying body and tucks himself under the covers still spread messily, untouched from this morning when he’d left in a hurry.

Louis is a lot of things but he’d be damned if he cleans up after his mess, let alone anyone else’s. Louis is home and cups of hot cocoa warming their hands as they watch shitty telly in the late of the night, he’s soft smiles and cozy snuggles and worn out converse left in the hallway to trip over.

He’s been that way since they moved in together around the time Harry started Uni, maybe even before that, maybe since they were children and oblivious and content and maybe even during that one month following Louis’ eighteenth birthday that they didn’t talk, and he’s home, still, when Harry is missing him terribly even though they’re just inches apart.

But its days like these, sun setting over the horizon at an imperceptible pace and basking everything in its faint glow, distant footstep treading silently so as to not trouble him and the almost tangibility, that make the litany of _maybe maybe maybe maybe_ difficult to stifle, and things like home sound like a scary concept.

Harry buries them deep and drifts off into slumber.

OoO

Harry has a boyfriend. He has a boyfriend and he’s not had one in a while, considering how busy he’s been with university and the bakery he works at. Of course there’s the occasional hang with the lads and parties here and there but now that he’s sorted out most of his coursework for his second term of his first year, he’s more at ease and relaxed.

Except that they’ve been going out for two weeks now and Harry has yet to tell Louis.

It’s not a big deal, really. There’s Louis who just broke up with his own boyfriend only a month ago and then there’s Harry with his own and then there’s them- which is- best mates.

So, naturally, he feels guilty for not telling his best friend that he’s not single, can’t go out partying in the hopes of bringing some stranger home and, oddly, he feels sheepish for even _being_ committed.

Which is dumb. _So_ dumb.

Their situation isn’t complicated; him and Louis are perfectly platonic dude bro pals. Lingering touches are just familiar and heated stares are perfectly normal and cuddles are cool and secret smiles are just one of those _harryandlouis_ things. He’s _just-_ they’re over it. More specifically, _he_ is.

It’s tiring, to cling to something a lot like expectation and yearning dangling just above the tips of his fingers, infuriatingly out of reach and somewhat obscure. So he tied it up and threw it out, tried to push it out until it was nothing but a small glitch in his determination those rare times he got heavily drunk.

He thinks of where they stand, and it’s enough. He thinks of how one glance can convey every feeling and fleeting touches that transition from _hi_ to _sorry_ and back again. It works for them, this almost-not quite-close enough routine that’s seeped into their friendship, ingrained itself into bone marrows and hollow spaces between their lungs, clings onto them with the comfort they’ve grown accustomed to around each other. It’s familiar and it’s _good._

So it’s not a good time, not _ever_ to afford such thoughts creeping up on him and roiling up a swirl of doubt inside him. Platonic dude bro pals. _Right_.

Which is why he’s being reckless- _no_ , he’s just popping up at the bar Zayn bartends that they’re meeting up for drinks _with_ Alex. Except he didn’t tell anyone he’d be bringing his boyfriend to their usual hangout spot. Hah, not reckless at all.

Okay so, _totally_ reckless because Louis is most certainly going to murder him.

“Isn’t it a bit early in this relationship to be meeting your best friends?” Alex tries to keep his tone light and teasing but his nervous laugh is a dead giveaway.

“They’ll like you.” Harry assures, more concerned about his possible demise that is possibly seconds away.

“If you say so,” Alex says weakly, linking their fingers together. Harry gulps.

“Lord have mercy,” Harry mutters in an undertone so that it’s only audible to him, leading Alex to their table at the back where the other three boys are already seated, noisy and loud like they always are.

“Harry, mate!” Niall beams, making grabby hands at him as the others break from their conversation to look up at him.

“Hiiiiii,” he greets meekly, lifting his free hand into a small wave. “So um,”

He feels Louis’ eyes on him, swallows once as he watches blue eyes flick down to his hand interlocked with Alex’s. He’s relentlessly avoiding looking him in the face but Harry knows anyway that Louis’ eyes are narrowing into slits.

“This is Alex.”

By now all attention is on them and Zayn has started to point questioning looks his way. Niall, bless him, only whoops and gets up and pulls Alex right into a hug. Liam offers him an amiable smile. Some of the tension low in Harry’s stomach gives away, but still _, lord have mercy._

Alex gives him a relived look but Harry isn’t so assured.

“Harry,” Louis starts slowly, eyes still focused on him.

“Louis,” he counters.

“Something you’d like to tell us.”

Harry blinks, “well, yeah. Alex is my boyfriend.”

“How long?”  Louis doesn’t miss a beat.

Harry slides into the booth next to Alex, exchanges a panicked glance with him but Alex is just snickering unabashedly behind his hand and hah, a hell lot of help he is.

“Well, um,” he finally looks at Louis, shrugs, tries to act nonplussed, “two weeks?”

“You kept this from me for _weeks_?” Louis shrieks, looking murderous.

“It was only two.” He says meekly.

“Weeks.” Louis repeats, calm.

Harry shoots a pleading look to the others, feeling Louis’ eyes burning a hole into the side of his head, and wishes the ground to swallow him whole. Alex squeezes his fingers from where their hands are tangled together, giving him a small smile. Harry returns it.

“Yeah, didn’t want you to scare him off.” He replies finally, turns to look Louis in the eye for the first time, vaguely noticing how he settles down a notch, watches as he picks up his drink and chugs it down in one go.

Louis lets out a small laugh, high pitched and the corners of his mouth tight. “Of course, Haz. Nice to meet your, ah, boyfriend.”

Harry feels Liam shift uncomfortably next to him as he scowls at Louis, mouth set in a firm reprimanding line. He mouths a _be nice_ and starts to speak because the stifling silence seems almost unbearable now. “So, what’s up?”

It’s a poor attempt but it’s better than staring at a bemused Alex and Harry feels rather perturbed, squirmy and skittish in a way he rarely is.

It’s Louis who speaks, quiet, “Niall was just telling us about this gig Ed and the guys landed. It’s sick, about almost a thousand people, yeah?”

“That’s so amazing.” Harry feels genuine happiness spark up inside him. Ed writes amazing songs and any type of attention is good because he can do big things, already is. Liam engages Alex into conversation as Niall bursts excitedly into a detailed account of his latest escapade.

Harry tunes it out, getting up to get himself something to drink, maybe calm down a bit in the loo.

He’s only been in the bathroom for two minutes, a hundred and twenty seconds, when he hears a swishing sound that is most certainly the door opening and someone steps inside, and it’s Louis. Of course Harry can tell because he’s so attuned to the way his feet seem to drag on the floor, and of course he steps closer to Harry cautiously.

Like stepping on thin ice frozen on a lake.

“You didn’t tell me,” Louis says quietly, after so much silence, after so many seconds spent just looking at everything but each other.

“I had been on a couple of dates with the same guy so it wasn’t really a secret. Does it matter?” Harry grits his teeth, and meets Louis’ eyes in the mirror, gripping the sink like it’s a lifeline, maybe, probably, because it seems like everything else is burning out or rather this unspoken bridge between them is burning _them_ out and he wants it to dissipate, wants to shove it back down deep until it doesn’t exist.

“Guess not,” Louis mutters, their eyes still locked in the glass, wide and open and bright, “I don’t know, maybe.” And it feels so _shattered,_ and _maybemaybemaybemaybe._

“Do you think-” Harry starts and then stops completely, buries it back down.

“No yeah,” Louis clears his throat, runs a hand through his carefully styled hair, “m’happy for you. It’s great. He seems great.”

“Thanks, he is.” He manages a smile, desperate to get this over with, his insides are knotting together tightly and his brain is screaming _out get out_ but Harry is frozen in place, unable to walk away.

“So,” Louis says just as Harry moves away from the sink and an inch closer to him, “should we go back?”

“Yeah. Can’t keep them waiting. Niall will be offended I think.” Joking works. Harry supposes it’s some sort of default setting, helpful in situations like these. 

Louis grins, “don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression, now that you have a boyfriend, eh?”

And Harry thinks, even as Louis pokes him in the side with resolute casualness; _don’t have to worry about that, yeah._

OoO

 

Harry is _so_ drunk, stumbling everywhere on his gangly limbs with spurts of giggles leaving his mouth every five seconds, cheeks flushed a dark crimson. “Niall there’s, like, two of you. Wait, are you. No I forgot. I forget.”

“Styles you’re such a lightweight.” Niall’s tone is mocking, victorious even, because goddamn Irish blood, right. Harry pouts, sticks out his middle finger and continues on his way, beer sloshing out of his cup.

He appears in the huge living room of Niall’s flat, rich dad and all, and the party is in full swing. He halts in front of a couple of girls and directs a dazzling smile their way.

“Are you guys,” he hiccups, “having fuuuun?”

One of them, the redhead, chuckles before taking the cup from his hands and gulping it down in one go. He watches her curiously, head tilting to the side.

“Yeah,” she says, handing the plastic back to him, “Niall’s are always fun, like crazy.”

Harry giggles, “yeaaaah. I’m so much having fun.” The other girls have turned back to their conversation and are chattering away animatedly while the redhead continues to smirk at him.

“You’re Harry, right?”

“That’s right! I’m Curly. I mean my hair. Louis calls me Curly. Which, have you seen my boyfriend?”

“Who, Louis?” She seems amused.

“Yeah. Wait no,” Harry frowns, nose scrunching up, “Louis’ not. He’s not. Um Alex?”

She pats his curls, giving him a sympathetic look, “sorry mate, don’t know where either Louis or Alex are.”

He sighs, feeling the corners of his mouth tug down. _God,_ he can be such a weepy drunk at times. “Well, I guess I’ll just go annoy the shit out of Zayn.”

“You do that.” She smiles.

“Thanks,” Harry smiles back at her and waves with both his hands. “See you redhead!”

“See you,” she calls after him with a snort but Harry is already too far gone by then.

OoO            

 

“We should go out,” Louis says, impromptu, out of the blue, late in the middle of the night when they’re both in their pajamas and Louis is spread out on the couch reading a book while Harry sips his hot cocoa languidly, the television buzzing softly in the background.

“Now?” Louis nods. “As in the middle of the night?”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s almost one am?”’

“Who cares?” Louis smiles and puts his book down. “It’ll be fun.”

Harry can’t help but retaliate, “bringing back the trend then?”

“I don’t recall it going away.”

“Well then I guess we’re just un-pausing it, yeah?”

Louis shakes his head, “you weirdo.” He’s already on his feet and there’s that glaze in his eyes that make goosebumps rise on the back of Harry’s neck hair, all exciting and spontaneous and familiar. And that’s all it takes for Harry to give in.

It’s just that ever since they both started Uni new traditions and routines have seeped into their skin and while that isn’t so bad, it doesn’t feel the same. So Harry is thrilled.

“Londoooon calls me a stranger,” Harry belts out, everything forgotten as he rushes to put on his ratty old trainers that are a bit of a tight fit but he loves them anyway, “a travelerrrr.”

“Styles,” Louis rolls his eyes fondly as he follows Harry outside the apartment and locks the door behind them. “You are a menace and you are bound to have woken Ms Rogers up by now.”

Harry pokes out his tongue, “she loves me.”

“Unfortunately. She’ll just put the blame on ol’ Tomlinson for not letting her get a good night’s sleep’,” Louis shakes his head in mock mourn. “The things I do for you.”

They take the stairs, skipping down them lightly and coming out to fresh air.

“Everyone loves me, you love me the most though.” Harry’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, mate.” Louis mutters and shoves him lightly, their footsteps sounding loud in the quiet of the night, their shadows illuminated by the soft yellow light emanating from the streetlights looming above them.

In the dark, only the turn of Louis’ nose, the dip of his brow and the slant of his mouth are visible, and somehow it makes him seem like he’s far away and Harry wants to press his thumb into the tattoo lined on Louis’ skin.

“Where are we going?” Harry asks, voice hushed as they walk further away from their neighborhood, a comfortable understanding dangling between them.

“Wherever this road takes us.”

Harry frowns, “that’s not very helpful.” He glances around at the complex, dingy buildings with peeling paint and graffiti on the brick walls and he feels a swell of affection for this neighborhood. He feels like he’s somehow grown here, in the span of a few months, in a way that’s greatly shaped him into someone who is closer to the person he wants to be.

“Honestly Harold, you know that I know that we both know where this place leads like the back of our hand,” Louis seems to be saying and Harry snaps himself out of his thoughts, chances a sideways look at him and quickly looks away when he catches Louis doing the same.

“Well yeah.” Harry wills the crimson blotting his cheeks to fade away.

 

“What are you thinking?”

“Just, like, this is nice. And living with you is nice. And being here, in general, is nice.”

“Nice?” Louis gasps, tone mocking. “That’s all you got for me, Curly? Nice? Unacceptable.”

Harry grins. “Amazing. Wonderful. Great.  Is _Lewis_ happy now?”

Louis tilts his head to the side, face contorted into one of thoughtfulness, “I suppose. I mean I did expect better praise since you, an ordinary person, should be honoured to be friends with an extraordinary person like me.”

Harry shoves him gently, eliciting a laugh from the shorter boy.

“No seriously,” Louis says and their shoulders brush together once, twice, a couple of times. “This is really nice. I’m glad we can still do this, you know?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods just as they turn a corner and emerge on a road that leads to a diner that they discovered a couple of months ago. It’s convenient that it’s so near as they can eat there whenever they’re sick of takeout or when Harry’s not feeling like cooking. It’s open during the night as well, and their chocolate shakes are _delicious._

It’s the first time they’ve been here late at night though.

In some way, Harry feels like it’s almost consequential, the return of traditions articulated in adolescence and teenage years, the entire city asleep except two boys on an adventure, if less exciting than it seemed back in the day. And it’s not an adventure, not really, but Harry likes to think so.

The diner is empty, except for Marge on the night shift and when they walk in, she shoots them a small smile, surprise etched on her face but she doesn’t question their motives.

“Two chocolate shakes please. Marge! And how are you today?” Louis greets her with his own soft smile, hair falling into his eyes that he pushes back with an impatient flick of his wrist. Harry watches them both fondly, warmth settling in the pit of his stomach.

“That hair needs a haircut.” She tuts and Harry giggles as Louis stomps his foot like a sullen child and Marge rolls her eyes in response.

“You lads find yourselves someplace to sit while I make my special.” She winks and disappears to the back.

Harry and Louis stand facing each other for a moment and then Louis waggles his eyebrows in a ridiculous manner that has Harry doubling over in laughter, and it’s not even funny but he laughs for a long time anyway.

They settle in their usual spot, Louis across for him and they bicker aimlessly about everything and anything in a playful manner and Harry slips into it like the dull thud of his heart beat, familiar and easy. He’s snorting at some story Niall told Louis and is now being passed onto him when Marge comes with their shakes and puts them on the table.

“Thanks Marge,” Harry says cheerfully, raising his thumb and wiggling it. She chuckles and retreats back to the front, the sound reverberating off the walls.

When Harry turns back, Louis is watching him, sipping from his straw casually, his expression neutral. Harry shifts in his seat, “what?”

“Nothing. I’m just enjoying myself.”

“Me too.” Harry beams.

The thing is, lately, Louis seems to be more distant, closed off, and while Harry is used to it in small bouts, a couple of days that Louis pushes him away, this isn’t like _that._ It’s quieter, more subdued, and more than a small thing and it’s been _weeks._ Small bouts he can do, a week he can do, but this makes him antsy, impatient and Harry is barely just holding himself back from demanding answers.

Being around and best friends for years has taught Harry that prodding Louis for answers is not how to resolve whatever is brewing up between them, he knows that what he needs is understanding and a steady hand low on his waist and someone to come home to.

Things have been so fickle, a whir and a blur and flipping through pages with haste that Harry can only sit back and hope that it won’t become a norm.

Louis is still looking at him, lower lip drawn in between his teeth, hair mussed up and flailing in all directions, and he seems to be searching for something, eyes a darker shade of blue than usual.

“Harry,” Louis starts, “Harry, Hazza, Haz.”

“Lou, Louis, Lou.”

“You’re pretty something.”  Harry’s breath catches in his throat just as Louis locks his feet around Harry’s ankle.

“Hmmm.” Is all he can say, wonders if Louis’ daring enough to take it a bit further, wonders if he’s changed even a little bit in the past few years.

“Yeah, like, we’re pretty something. Dream Team, innit?”

And it’s so fucking _unfair_ , how Louis can just _say_ that while looking at him all the time and not even flinch, how he can just bring it up just like that, how he doesn’t even _know_ what it does to Harry. And Harry is.

Harry is so, so _gone_ for him. It shatters everything, makes it come crashing down.

Over the years, he’s learned how to get back on his feet with a scraped knee while trying to ride a bike, how to write his name with his eyes closed, searched for a troubled Gemma hiding in the barn, he’s let go of a best friend gracefully without much torment, pays his share of the rent on time, and he’s learned about scars and how they don’t ever fade, just settle. And amidst the accumulating problems of childhood, adolescence and adulthood that cling to him, he realizes that the one that’s held on the longest is the utter longing he feels deep down for the boy sitting right across from him.

He doesn’t know how to unlearn what his eyes have engraved in his mind since he was pudgy and _boy_ and young enough to not understand anything fluttering and crashing inside of him.

He’s almost twenty now, and, somehow, he’s still trying to figure it out.

And he thinks it over, how utterly inevitable it seems, this sudden epiphany, that he has tried pushing away for so long, and he’s tried because Louis is unreachable and that _maybe_ is never going to be _someday_ and it’s kind of devastating how there’s no escaping it. This vicious cycle of Louis and rejection and infatuation transitioned into something so much more.

He looks at Louis, how unaffected he is, and Harry’s heart kind of breaks a bit. He looks happy, all soft in the light of the diner, and it’s unfair how he still manages to look so good in his semi sleep deprived state. It’s so much, there’s so much weight in the pit of his stomach, constricted so tightly it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

If he was a mine, everything would be caving in by now.

He’s feeling everything all at once, everything he could imagine ever feeling, and he’s afraid that the weight of all of it at once might break him the way his heart seems to be shattering into miniscule pieces, each piece more consequential than the last.

He wants to say it, these words that weigh him down, have been locked inside for _years._ Words that have kept him up on nights where he’s tried blocking them out but he when he opens his mouth he’s only greeted with silence. He slumps in defeat and exhaustion. 

“Harry,” Louis is saying, fingers clicking together to snap him out of his jumbled mess of thoughts. Harry blinks.

“You kind of zoned out of me there, Curly.”

“Yeah.” Harry’s heart is racing a thousand miles a minute, thudding painfully loud and he fears Louis might be able to hear, hear what he does to Harry. He needs an out. Preferably forever.

“I um actually don’t feel well, can we go home?”

And Louis, bless him, is out of his seat in a second, throws some money out on the table and with a hasty goodbye to Marge, they’re out of the place.

All the while, Harry is painfully aware of Louis’ hand pressing into the small of his back.

OoO

He breaks up with Alex the next day, guilt clouding his eyes as he spouts some shit about how it’s just not working out.

Alex is great. He’s understanding and while the only thing tumbling out of Harry’s lips is _sorry_ his eyes are knowing, soft around the edges.

And when he shrugs, trying to act up on nonchalant, Harry stares at him in wonder, _what even are you?_

He has that same infuriatingly calm look on his face when he replies, _who am I to get in the way of great love anyway?_

Harry stutters, stops, tries again. _what do you mean?_

 _You’ll figure it out, Styles._ He smiles and that’s that.

OoO

Harry is a bit dazed. He is also seething; hands balled up in fists so tightly that they’re white. So, dazed because of his anger. Right. He stalks down the short distance to Louis’ room and barges right inside which is unusual for him. He’s all about privacy and personal space.

Louis is sitting on his bed, phone in his hand as he messes with it and he looks up in surprise at Harry’s sudden arrival. He rolls his eyes in that habitual way of his and opens his mouth to retort but Harry doesn’t let him. Not today.

“I hate you,” He starts and Louis’ astonishment only grows visibly on his face. “I hate you, a lot. Like so much, and I am so angry right now. And everything is, everything is red. I can’t even see straight. And it’s all because of you.”

“Harry what-“

“You are an asshole. The biggest one.” Harry throws up his hands and it’s all so comical but he feels so sad and on cue, his shoulders droop and he feels the lump articulating in his throat, and he has to get this out, all at once before it’s too late and too much and he’s back to feeling like it’s something he’s never supposed to bring up.

“And I’ve been _trying_ so _hard_ not to feel like I’m barreling towards the culmination of a precipice _but_ -“ he leans against the door frame. Louis gets up and walks closer, crossing his arms over his chest, face contorted into an expression Harry can’t fathom. “-it’s so, you’re so.” Harry throws his hands up in frustration, kicking one foot out in the air.

“Go on,” Louis urges softly. Harry takes a deep breath.

“My mom used to say that I’m calmer, less likely to be involved when chaos strikes the world, more likely to be up on a hill, reading a book under a tree. And that’s _true_ , but Louis I just look at you and--and I feel like the entire world has been tilted on its axis, like _I’m_ upside down. And it’s so,” Harry trails off, looking for the right word and when he finds it, it comes out in a whisper, “unsettling.”

Louis shifts a bit and half his face is just a shadow.

“I’ve tried to not feel it and mash it down and just throw it out but it doesn’t work. Nothing does. I look at you and it’s just so. You drive me crazy, and all those years ago, you rejected me and okay, that’s okay. I tried to make it go away but now I’m standing here, and telling you all this and I can’t _sleep,_ I can’t _think,_ I can’t anything, and, and, _Louis_ , I love you. Just all the time, I love you.” Harry’s throat seems to be clogging up now and he fumbles his fingers together, having let go finally. He swallows, has to get this last bit out. His eyes flicker to Louis’, and hold them there.

“I um broke up with Alex because I can’t fucking stop thinking about you, and that’s unfair to him. It’s unfair to me because sometimes all that plagues my mind is that day and your rushed assurances and it. It fucking hurts, okay? Louis, I _can’t._ I can’t do this anymore. I love you. That’s yeah. That’s all.”  Louis’ eyes are masses of blue with flecks of grey and green in them, and they seem to be a wide range of fleeting emotions, withdrawing.

Harry bites his lips, ducks his head. The buzzing in his head is all encompassing and seems to be getting louder by the second, and he feels the stinging behind his eyes because they have been dancing around each other long enough, and this, right here, seems to be the termination point.

“Fucking say something.” He urges, and then as an afterthought, “please.”

“Harry,” Louis says, ever so quietly and it’s déjà vu in some way. And for repetitions sake, Harry lets his insides numb itself to nothingness. _You are a fucking coward, selfish bastard. Selfish bastard._

“I don’t want to hear it.” Harry sighs, feels everything falling apart and there’s one thing professing his feelings but he’ll be damned if he lets Louis see him crumple over this. “I get it. It’s whatever, fine.”

It dawns on him, completely and with earth shattering clarity, how in over his head he has been all this time.

He looks around, the silence condensing into a thick knot that’s placing itself around his neck, and this is _it._ Harry bites his lower lip in an attempt to stops it wobbling but when he looks at Louis again  his vision blurry without consent and everything out of grasp and fuck, how fucking _symbolic._  

He turns his back on Louis, even as he can’t help but hope Louis might have some final words, and fuck, Harry is _so_ fucked. He doesn’t know how to do this, this brutal separation that is already absconding bruising cuts on his heart. His voice is thick with emotion when he says, “I’ll be at Liam’s if you need me. Bye Lou.”

His voice breaks. He grabs his shoes in the hallway and he hears footsteps following him, pitter patter pitter patter, and they sound hollow to his ears. He puts them on, clumsily tying the laces.

“Harry,” he repeats and his voice is thick.

“No. Just, I’ll be at Liam’s, yeah?”

“Harry I just. You _know_.”

He stands up, and his voice is loud. “Know what, Louis?”

“Just, _please._ ”

Harry sniffs, and that makes him furious. He will _not_ cry. “I do mean it, you know. I think you know that,” his voice is just quiet and _subdued_ , “and Lou I don’t know but I just love you. You’re, like, _it._ I’ll probably be back; I just can’t be here right now. Give me time, I’ll be back. Bye, Lou.”

He closes the door behind him and convinces himself that it’s only his mind playing tricks when he hears a choked up sob emitting from inside.

OoO

Harry doesn’t go directly to Liam’s, walks aimlessly from one nameless place to another, feet carrying him further and further away as he battles sleep and tiredness and his thoughts all at once.

He drags his feet until he comes across an isolated park with untouched swings perched nearby, sliding onto a wooden bench with musty paint peeling off. Harry curls in on himself, making himself as small as possible, shrinking. He looks up, at the perpetual Milky Way stretching out, masses of beauty in stark contrast to the dark sky. He traces swirls and curls and zigzags and all the while, the only thing that sits at peace with him is the burden he no longer carries on his shoulders.

A yawn escapes his lips and he feels drowsy, drained. His phone buzzes and sends vibrations down his leg from his jeans pockets. He pays it no mind and straightens himself until his feet are dangling off the edge of the bench. He counts back from hundred and lets slumber takeover.

OoO

“Harry,” someone hisses from above him, making him grunt in response and hedge an arm over his eyes. “Harry I swear to God if you don’t get up right this instant I am going to- something _life threatening._ Get up asshole.”

It dawns on him that those frantic mumbles belong to _Louis_ and that jolts him awake, his veins buzzing with impromptu energy and rushing blood that can be heard over the increasing beat of his heart. He blinks several times and rubs the sleep out of his eyes, rubs a hand over his face because he’d like to prolong this for as long as he can. His back is aching but he settles on ignoring that.

Louis keeps talking, and Harry lets him, “you complete utter _arsehole._  This isn’t Liam’s house,” his voice is bordering on hysterical and it lights something inside Harry and his first instinct is to reach out comfortingly but he curls his hands behind his back, “you’re- _asshole,_ you’re God knows where, in the middle of _nowhere,_ and I have been _worried_ about your stupid ass.”

Louis’ hands are flailing everywhere and his hair falls in his eyes in tufts and his eyes are shining, with fear or panic or just because, Harry can’t tell. He reaches out and pulls Louis next to him, shoulders touching. “I’m not a child; I can take care of myself.”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you. And your _back_ Haz, you shouldn’t have gone to sleep here.” Louis replies.

“I’m fine.” He shrugs.

“I can see through your lies and. And also, we need to talk. And this time I’m going to do the talking.”

Harry nods, stiff. Louis sits down on the grass in front of him, eyes ablaze and his face is so determined and Harry feels a tug at his heart, eyes solely and completely fixed on Louis.

“I’m sorry,” those are the first words out of Louis’ mouth, soft and careful and meaning something, and he looks so young like this, hunched in on himself, hands at work at pulling tufts of grass out from the ground, “ _haz_ , fuck, I’m so fucking _sorry._ ”

He looks up briefly, lower lip caught between his teeth and his hands come to wring together, jittery in a manner that Harry is all too familiar with. “I was just sitting there after you left and I thought about how fucking meaningless everything is when you’re not there, and how fucking stupid I am for letting you walk away every time. And I’m not- I do love you. I do.”

“But not enough,” Harry replies sadly.

“Haz,” his eyes are soft with emotion, and _oh._

“Say that again,” Harry cuts in, heart thudding against his chest, blood rushing to his ears, “lou, say that again.” He slides down, knees touching Louis’, skin on skin, and everything is on fire.

“I love you. I was fifteen and maybe I loved you but I was fifteen and I didn’t know then what to make of that so I tied it up and put it in the back of my mind and let it go.”

“Lou,” Harry whispers, voice rough with emotion, hair falling into his eyes and heart heavy because this is really happening.

He watches as Louis clutches his hand with a tight grip and grips back like it’s the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control, “and then, then when I turned eighteen, we kissed and I was so in love with you. But that scared me and I wasn’t ready for something so much bigger than myself.” Louis swallows, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m ready now.”

“Why’d you make me wait so long?” He whispers brokenly, and everything is raw and new and burning.

“We were just. You were so young and I didn’t want to take that away from you, all the things to experience. Haz, you were willing to give up everything and I couldn’t let that happen. I-I needed to figure stuff out and you did too.”

“It’s still the same. It’s not- Lou what’s changed?”

“Absolutely nothing. That’s kinda the point, innit?”

“Yeah.” Harry breathes. “Yeah can I just, like, kiss you?”

“Duh silly.” Louis’ smile is so, so bright and Harry leans in and it’s the best kiss, it’s sloppy and eager and bruising and it’s everything Harry thought he’d never have but he does. He does now. Louis kisses him, again and again and again until they’re both out of breath and dazed. 

“Haz,” Louis brushes his thumb over his slick and swollen lips, eyes half lidded and Harry is sure a familiar expression is etched on his own face, “we should, like, date.”

There’s still a lot they have to talk about, a lot to figure out but Harry figures he can shove it aside for a few hours.

The laugh that emits from his mouth is raucous and fills the entirety of the empty space, and Louis’ answering smile holds a promise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
